Four Letter Word
by Mayclore
Summary: Dipper tries and fails, time and again, to win a stuffed animal of uncertain classification for the tall redhead of his dreams. At least, he fails until a four letter word changes everything. A random one-shot from nowhere.


It came, like most brilliant ideas, after Dipper had ceased trying to think so hard. Fate, or physics perhaps, had defeated him in his twelve attempts to not strike Wendy in the face while trying to win her that damnable purple duck panda, or panda duck, or panduck, or whatever it was. Even his vast mathematical knowledge would fail him in this pursuit for one reason: Waddles.

No, that wasn't quite true. Waddles didn't exist yet, at least not as Waddles; Mabel hadn't won the portly pink pig, and Dipper's plan was going to make her thirteenth victory difficult, if not impossible, to pull off. She was an integral part of the scheme; when the ball arrived on the Mystery Shack's roof – and it had better, lest Sir Isaac Newton begin turning serious RPMs in his grave – she was to adjust the path of its flight with the rickety old gutter.

Mabel was rather put off by the whole affair. "How am I supposed to climb up there and climb down and run back over here and win Waddles before Pacifica steals him and makes his piggy life miserable?" she asked, hands on her hips and looking bitterly annoyed.

"If you don't, then I'm going to fail, again," he replied, eyes darting over the immense equation as he double-checked his work. "And based on the last few times, if I keep screwing this up someone is going to get killed. Probably by a solar panel that my throw knocks off of the International Space Station or something."

Mabel pinned her brother down with the chilliest glare her eyes could muster, but even that frigid look was tinged with a certain level of cute. "Dipper, I want my pig. Come heck or seltzer water, I'm going to get him!"

"I don't think seltzer water was part of the original say—never mind." He doffed his hat and peered longingly at his scribbling on the side of the popcorn cart. It was beautiful in its own way, a finely honed mathematical guideline that predicted at least thirty seconds of time. Without Mabel as part of the equation, however, it would not stand. He would fail again, hilariously, and using the incomplete proof would undoubtedly lead to something exploding. As he squinted at the numbers and symbols, he realized it would likely be the rigged dunk tank in which his great uncle was currently taunting the fairgoers. "I want Wendy, but I want you to have Waddles too. I just don't know how I can accomplish the two simultaneously."

Mabel rolled her eyes and grinned widely. "Maybe you should stop doing all that mathy stuff so you can really think. I mean, letters divided by letters? Just thinking about looking at your whatever you wrote over there is giving me a headache."

Dipper regarded her with more than a little skepticism, but his tired mind offered him no other options. "Maybe you're right. I'm gonna take a walk."

"That's the spirit! Walk the math off!" she cheered, then fell still and silent as her face went blank. "Walking math. That would be even worse than zombies. At least they'd just eat my brain instead of frying it to death slowly." The thought was gone nearly as soon as it had come, and she wandered off, whistling to herself.

It was difficult for him to let his consciousness empty, and by the time he'd actually accomplished the deed he found himself staring up at the purple panducks and scowling. "It's never going to end. I'm going to keep throwing this stupid ball and injuring the woman of my dreams, then watching her get a romantic snowcone shoved into her eye socket for all eternity. Death will be too busy laughing at my abject misery to ever come." He picked a particular panduck to stare at and sighed. "I don't even know what these things are supposed to be. Panda ducks? Duck pandas?"

The more he thought about the uncertain species of stuffed animal that currently had him trapped in an endless loop of failure, the stranger the two words began sounding as he repeated them in his head. After a minute, his eyes lit up. It was so simple, and yet like most truly good ideas, it almost blinded him with its brilliance. Behind him, he saw Mabel toddling off to win Waddles yet again, but he only smiled wide. He no longer needed his sister to execute his new plan. She waved at him; he gave her a thumbs up. Off to his right, Wendy was arriving, striding along and glancing about idly. She walked up to Dipper and snapped a hand up in greeting, and they went through the motions of questioning the question mark-shaped corn dogs, and the mustard stain that lead them in the direction of the booth in the first place.

"Whoa," she gasped, looking up at the indeterminate plushies. "I don't know if it's a duck or a panda, but I _want one_."

He regarded them no longer with sadness or hate, but a satisfied grin. "All right," he replied with a shrug, walking confidently to the counter and handing over a ticket. "One ball, please."

"You only get one chance," the carny said, as he had twelve times before.

"If only I could believe that," Dipper muttered, adjusting his hat and looking up at the tall redhead for a much longer time than he intended.

"You gonna throw, man?" she asked, her face unsure. She was still smiling, though, and Dipper's heart leaped into his throat.

"You won't get why I'm about to say this, but I'm asking you to trust me," he said, reaching under his hat to scratch at his hair. "Duck."

"Say what?" Wendy blinked and folded her arms. "Why?"

Dipper pulled his hat back into position, glanced at the ball in his right hand, then at the stacked bottles eight feet away beyond the counter. "You'll understand in a few seconds, I promise. Just duck behind the counter."

"If you say so?" she replied, the inflection in her voice betraying her uncertainty. She crouched down in front of the booth, looked over at Dipper for confirmation that she had done as he wanted, and received a smile. "All right, then."

"Here goes...and a one, and a two," he breathed, firing the ball at the bottles for the thirteenth time. It struck them and caused them to scatter, and just as in the twelve times previous contacted the wood behind the stack and bounced back in his direction. However, this time there was no Wendy for it to hit; instead, it flew harmlessly off and landed on the grass, where it was thrown back to Dipper by a boy walking past.

"Whoa!" Wendy said, standing up and watching him toss the ball in his left hand. The carny pulled down a half-breed stuffed abomination and gave it to the shocked girl. "How did you know it was gonna do that?"

He smirked and tipped his cap. "This stuff was all ordered, rented, constructed, or designed by my great uncle. Would you really trust any of it?"

"Come to think of it, that makes perfect sense," she grinned back, hugging her purple whatever it was. "This is awesome."

Mabel was coming into view again, her precious pig in tow. She saw Wendy holding the purple thing and grinned so wide it must have caused her pain. This time, she gave the thumbs up. He tipped his cap in reply and walked with her as she continued to fawn over her panduck. Robbie was coming over, too, but wilted and stalked away when the redhead showed him the prize that Dipper had won for her. Where trial and error had failed him, where even math couldn't save the day, a four letter word had bent fate to his will.

And things would never be the same.


End file.
